


Dipsomanic Paroxysm

by CraniumCulverin



Series: Ripper!AU [3]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drunkenness, Dubious Consent, Frottage, Heavy Petting, M/M, Original Character(s), Other, Other's OCs, Ripper!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 09:27:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18688717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CraniumCulverin/pseuds/CraniumCulverin
Summary: Alfred is a drunken mess, prompting his personal physician, Percy, to assist him in getting home. The ensuing events give Percy a lot of unexpected information to analyze concerning his self-repressed, special case patient - and a good deal of suffering.





	Dipsomanic Paroxysm

**Author's Note:**

> Ripper!AU is based on donc-desole's artwork. Contains mild noncon elements, but I figure it's not enough to warrant an archive warning. Originally posted on my tumblr.

 

The drunken bulk of his companion is all but dead weight as Percy tries to maneuver them both down the slanting avenue, echoing footsteps muffled by the fog. He pauses to lean against the cold brick of a terrace, his burden continuing to mumble as he swipes a white lock of hair from his vision. Even with it out of the way his surroundings seem wavery and blurred. He frowns, then starts counting back from 10 not for the first time this evening. _“No, it must be early morning by now, surely.”_ To be certain he sets down his black leather bag and fumbles out a pocket watch, the face glinting under dampened lamplight as he struggles to focus. What he sees undoes whatever calm his counting had instilled. A hand suddenly falls heavy on his head as his companion giggles. Percy inhales sharply.

“Alfred. Please stop whatever you - stop _petting_ me!”

He starts at the harshness of his tone nearly as much as Alfred does. It would seem keeping an equable demeanor despite the circumstances is proving quite difficult. Nevertheless, the blond’s hand falls from where it’d been molesting his hair. Good. Percy pointedly ignores the man’s teary-eyed pout as he retrieves his bag, opting to continue their slow, staggering journey home.

He has fourteen patients to meet tomorrow - _today_ \- and instead of getting much needed sleep, here he is. Out on the street. Tipsy, dragging a dangerously drunk “friend” back to Percy’s _own_ housing because _his_ is even further to go. Frankly, the doctor isn’t sure the man _doesn’t_ belong in a professional’s care; with how much alcohol he’s likely had tonight, poisoning seems rather probable. Were it not for the fact his private practice owed much of its current Yharnamite clientele to Alfred’s charismatic promoting, Percy would truly consider leaving him in the gutter. A negative experience to ensure a positive change of one's actions - the doctor knew full well such tactics were commonly effective. On Alfred, however…

From what Percy has gathered, Alfred is not of a “common” state of mind. Despite his bizarrely intense sense of loyalty, he was still a very emotionally volatile individual. And violent at times, though his rage has never before been directed at the physician.

 _“Still,”_ Percy thinks as he adjusts the larger man’s arm over his shoulder, _“better to err on the side of caution. If Alfred remembers any of my involvement this evening, best not let it be something upsetting…”_

* * *

He had seen Alfred in a pub as he passed by earlier that evening, rushing to an emergency call ( _“7 years old, fell climbing a fence, sprained ankle, compression and elevation for a week”_ ). Returning the same way more than an hour later he was still there, albeit considerably more slouched into his seat.

As his personal physician and knowing his patient’s past vices, Percy felt obligated to intervene. As whatever Alfred considers him outside of that role, what with his constant visits and incessant (albeit occasionally fascinating) one-sided conversations, Percy was exasperated. Upon approaching the blond man sequestered to a dimly-lit corner and seeing his miserable state - eyes unfocused and puffy from tears - Percy was alarmed.

Alfred was not a man to be so openly distraught in public, and despite a history with alcohol he wasn’t one to drink to such excess. With the evidence of something very much amiss with a special case patient, Percy had asked permission to enter Alfred’s personal booth of gloom. He ordered a drink to put the other at ease, hoping it’d feel more like a regular talk and not one of the speculative “discussion” appointments the younger man wasn’t particularly fond of. It was also the end of a rather _long_ day - everyone was due their comforts after a hard day’s work. Having left the source of his comforts back in London and with no surgeries the next day, a drink seemed like as good a choice as any. A grave mistake.

Alfred immediately demanded he pay for his friend, an offer Percy saw no reason to rebuff more than once. However after much small talk and even more patience on his end, he found this also meant that Alfred expected to _continue_ paying. Percy only learned what plagued the man nearing the end of his third round.

It had been the anniversary of his mentor’s death - an Old Pthumerian by the name of Logärius. Percy was very much aware of Alfred’s reverence for the man, and frankly held a good deal of respect for him himself. Logärius had spent many years gathering an immense amount of medical and academic knowledge from around the world, tasked to bring it back to Yharnam’s vast libraries. Percy couldn’t even begin to count how many texts and volumes he’d perused that were available solely thanks to the late man’s work.

Alfred shared, while staring blankly into his whiskey, that it was while fulfilling this mission the man had died, and he had been witness to it. Percy found himself at a loss for words, and only with that rarity realized he’d had far too much to drink.

The barmaid must have been waiting for a lull in the heavy conversation, as she took the opportunity to quietly tell the two they had to leave; it was past close. Thankfully this prompted Alfred’s fluctuating temper, snapping him out of his melancholy and into scathing anger - a state Percy was now well-acquainted with handling. He swiftly had the drunken man up and even laughing by the time they left the pub, the barmaid no worse for wear save for a few shaken nerves.

* * *

_“At least he hasn’t lapsed back into the desolate state I found him in,”_ the doctor considers as he avoids a large gap in the cobblestone. He holds fast when the larger man isn’t as astute, somehow keeping the two of them upright when he stumbles. _“I’m not sure I have the wherewithal to endure anymore of it tonight. Or ever, for that matter.”_

They finally round the last corner onto Percy’s street, only for Alfred to continue his trajectory down the main avenue. With a gasp Percy drops his bag to grab a handful of jacket and hook an arm around the drunk’s bicep, nearly toppling backward to keep him from lunging headfirst into a nearby lamp post. Between gravity and the doctor’s weight Alfred is stood straight up, his incessant chatter stopped short with a thoroughly dumbfounded expression. Dully looking down at Percy, a dazed smile takes its place. “Persh- Percy! Goo’ness man, nehrly brained m’self… again huh?” He chuckles as he takes the physician by the wrist, pulling him up and into his chest without a trouble. He steadies himself against the lamp post, solid arms locking his friend in place. “An’ here I tah- thought tha’ I wahsh goin’ta… make it back home, turnight. Dun think I’m make it tha’ fart- _far_.”

“Thi- this isn’t the way to your room, Alfred. That’s… quite a different direction,” Percy manages, his voice muffled. He was still trying to slow his heart rate after the narrowly avoided head trauma - being crushed to the other man’s chest wasn’t helping him breathe. “We’re going to my res- … -idence instead. It’s closer, and it’s _late_ … So let’s be on our way, hm?”

On hearing him Alfred squints down the foggy side street, looking back to Percy a few seconds after he’d stopped talking. “…Oh. Ahright then… Hafter you.”

Alfred makes no attempt to release him, seemingly unaware he was still holding the older man. Percy raises his brows as he tries to meet the drunk’s gaze, giving him a pat on the arm in the hope he’d catch on. Alfred only smiles wider, eyelids heavy as he settles on staring at something just over the other’s head. The doctor waits a moment before letting his head thump against solid chest. Jaw tightly clenched, he starts counting down from 10 again.

He’s in the arms of an inebriated, temperamental, _brute_ of a considerably younger man under the light of a lamp post in the dead of night. Were he not so exceptionally tired of this whole affair and in general, he’d laugh at the absurdity of it all. Him of all people, in such a hackneyed scene of debauchery! _“Oh, what would Wesley think of this? Poor man would-”_ His thought is interrupted by the familiar sensation of a hand in his hair.

The urge to ram his head straight into the taller man’s face is sudden and intense. Taking a shaky breath for his waning temper - one of _so_ many reasons why he rarely indulges - he looks up at the drunk with a forced smile. “Please stop that. Let’s be on our-”

“Y’ur hair is… _really_ soft. Has, has ahnyone ever told'ju that? S’like a… a _puppy_.”

Both of Alfred’s hands are now ruffling through his silver-white locks, completely unabashed. Percy gawks for a moment before settling into blank-faced silence. He very much considers jabbing the man in the kidneys, _very_ hard. Less blood than breaking his nose, less likely to cause unsightly stains. Instead he takes the hands ( _“far too gently”_ ) running through his hair and guides them to their owner’s sides. He clears his throat to draw the other’s attention, softly smiling once he does.

“Alfred, it’s time to go now, to bed. Would you like to sleep, hm? Are you tired?” He speaks as if to a child, fairly certain now he’ll receive no angry reproach. Alfred is evidently too far gone to feel the slightest amount of shame or indignity. The blond hums in response as he nods ever so slightly. His drunk-flushed expression is hard to read, focus no longer on the doctor’s tousled hair but instead on his face. Percy tries to match his stare before relenting, quickly glancing around for any passersby that could bare witness. Not for the first time he’s feeling strangely on edge with the man. Prone to emotional outbursts as Alfred was, Percy rarely ever felt uneasy around him. When he did it was… rather jarring.

From his peripheral he sees a hand creep upward again. He swiftly steps away and out of Alfred’s reach, readjusting his jacket and fetching his bag in lieu of acknowledging him. Belatedly, Percy realizes he’d been leaning against him longer than necessary. He clears his throat again, more out of lingering tension than anything. “Come along Alfred, we’ve dawdled long enough. It’s not far now… We’ll get you something to eat.”

His companion looks a little forlorn at the sudden lack of contact, hands held aloft as if in silent appeal. At comprehending the promise of food however, his disposition flips instantly, the unintelligible jabber starting anew. Percy chances to take a few more paces away, waiting for Alfred to stagger toward him before lending his support.

The street Percy’s residence is on is well-lit and thankfully not on such an incline as the older avenue; they make it down the stretch of houses to the other end much faster than they’d managed to move before. Leaving Alfred to hold his own weight against the handrail, Percy quickly unlocks his front door and deposits his bag inside. He struggles greatly to get the unsteady bulk up the few meager steps, nearly slamming full-force into the threshold as Alfred seems to momentarily lose all sense of balance. Once they’re both inside Percy doesn’t even wait to see if his guest remains standing before turning back to the door, breathing hard in frustration. _“Never again! Never again am I going to take on an alcoholic, I swear it! I’d rather enlist and suffer military idiocy the likes of **Crimea** than ever suffer this again! I wouldn’t even complain!”_ Closing and locking the door behind them, he knows full well the line of thought is ridiculous, but allows himself the small purge of emotion.

Holding in a slow breath before exhaling, Percy turns around, his usual placid smile back in place. Alfred had managed to keep himself upright at least, awkwardly leaning against the doorframe to the sitting room. He’s blearily looking around, trying to make out anything through the darkness and his own drunken haze. Percy steps closer, lightly laying a hand on his arm to get his attention. “Alright, let’s get you somewhere you can sleep, yes?”

Alfred stares at him as the words register, eventually responding with the same nod and soft hum as before. However the nodding slows and the humming stops as his face scrunches up, as if trying to remember something. Ignoring this, Percy maneuvers him further into the parlor, all but praying he doesn’t recall the previous promise of a meal. There isn’t a doubt in his mind the man would manage to asphyxiate himself were he left unsupervised with food - and Percy was _not_ staying up any longer. _“His condition in the morning be damned. Anything he’d eat would likely just end up half digested and on the rug anyway. Likely choking him in his sleep on the way out.”_

They move around the sofa, bumping into it hard enough for it to skid closer to the nearby table. With his burden in position in front of the seat Percy lets him stand on his own, arm kept close behind to keep the wavering drunk steady. “Okay, here we are. If you’ll just sit down ple _EEH_ -!”

Alfred immediately drops, taking Percy with him. The couch skids loudly back into place and then some as they land hard, accompanied by a surprised “Omph!” from the doctor. With his arm pinned to the backrest and the room spinning more than he’d like to admit, Percy’s too dazed to do anything but keep still; if the room didn’t solidify soon it’d be _him_ making a mess of the rug. Alfred squirms about, making disgruntled noises as he tries to figure out why he can’t get comfortable. He leans forward to shift himself further back, just enough to allow Percy to quickly extract his aching appendage. He doesn’t slump against the backrest as expected, but instead props all of his weight on a knee before cocking his head to lazily look over at his host. He mumbles something almost too low to register. The tired physician is too distracted to listen, however - they were still practically on top of each other, painfully so.

Surprised at his own lack of annoyance over the matter, Percy huffs a wry chuckle. _“I’ve reached my personal limit of mental duress it would seem. Shame I’m in no state to analyze this more thoroughly…”_ He adjusts himself, not bothering to move more than necessary. He’s a professional with patients, yes, but he was beyond tired right now - and this was _Alfred_. The man was as prone to bodily lift the doctor off his feet via embrace as he was to properly shake hands. And frankly, Percy couldn’t care less about the etiquette of personal space even in the best of times.

Alfred doesn’t seem to mind in the least. He’s sagged away from Percy since settling his movements, staring at him with a slack-jawed, almost beguiled expression. He’s finally, blessedly silent though, so Percy decides not to dwell on being so closely watched. He allows himself to just sit - the sofa is far too comfortable not to utilize for a moment. Lugging a large man a few city blocks both down and uphill hadn’t been kind on him. The physician sinks further into the cushions with a sigh. He closes his eyes to focus on relaxing every tense muscle, noting which still ache from the unexpected exertion. _“I’ve gotten complaisant in my routine duties… grown too lax in the upkeep of my own body. I should make time to work on that. Perhaps invite Alfred to add to his regimen, help relieve him of some of that pesky bulk…”_

He shifts, wincing more at the noise rather than sensation when his back cracks. Say what people will of his youthful appearance - he certainly doesn’t feel younger than his years. Not since moving to this city at least… Strange really, that being the case. One would think such an opportunity for scientific advancement and learning would be invigorating to one such as him.

Percy furrows his brow as, for some reason, his mind drifts to Wesley Péche. Usually he doesn’t allow himself these fancies - they were but another distraction from his busy practice and ever-progressing research. Ultimately meaningless, unfruitful. It’s not as though he’s been completely without contact since relocating to Yharnam; he writes Wesley as often as the post allows, and Wesley him. Percy’s as up to date about he and his wife’s lives as he could be, and they his. Well, what he could safely tell them anyway… Why he finds himself drawn to thinking of the dear man so very often is beyond him. It’s been but a handful of years since they’d last spoken in person, for goodness’ sake!

He reminisces of when he’d first left England, as he was boarding the train to start his journey to New Pthumeria. Wesley had been anxious as ever standing out on that platform, the telltale twitch at the side of his mouth betraying his attempts at stoicism. Dear Rosalind, Wesley’s wife, had foregone all propriety to wrap Percy into a warm embrace, not minding her husband’s embarrassed sputtering as she placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. It was then she’d whispered in his ear to write Wesley as soon as he was able - the poor man would be a fretful mess until he did. He’d promised her that, his own voice low as he thanked her for watching over him in his absence. She was smiling as they pulled apart, eyes shining with unshed tears as Percy approached the man in question. Wesley went ramrod straight under his gaze, fingers flexing and twitching together as he stuttered, at a loss for words. Percy often remembers of how quickly the man had relaxed when he’d taken his left hand in his own. To any in the bustling crowd that day, it was a mere handshake between friends saying goodbye - to the men sharing it, it meant so much more.

With a level tone Percy had told him to find another physician, posthaste, should he or his wife ever find themselves ill - and not to let sentiments dissuade him otherwise. Wesley could only blink a few times before assuring his former physician that he would, something akin to disappointment crumpling his features.

The doctor then covered Wesley’s hand with his other, letting his fingers gently caress the gap of a missing digit he’d skillfully closed up, so long ago. _“I will write you as soon as I am able, and often after that, dearest Mister Péche. You have my word.”_ Percy had said, in a voice meant solely for Wesley as he intently held his gaze. Wesley’s face bloomed scarlet, jerking his head in a stiff nod in lieu of attempting speech. Percy grinned as the slim man backed away, holding his left hand like a lifeline as he stepped next to his stout wife, who had been doing a poor job of hiding her smile. They’d said their final goodbyes then, just before Percy boarded the passenger car. As the train left the station Rosalind waved goodbye to every passing window, while Wesley merely stood and watched. Somehow, the two men managed to meet eyes as they’d briefly passed. Feeling wily, Percy had blown him a kiss. Wesley’s face went crimson once again just before falling out of view, drawing a hearty chuckle out of the doctor.

 _“That man has suffered me far longer than I originally ever could’ve imagined,”_ Percy ruminates. _“To think that particular line of research would continue for so many years, and alter so much in the process… Likely not the best practice, allowing a subject to change one’s hypotheses in the midst of an experiment - the results are due to be terribly incoherent… Ah well…”_

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he remembers all of the reactions he’d learned to elicit from his former patient turned study subject. As much as Wesley enjoyed playing his beloved violin, Percy enjoyed exercising his own form of mastery over the man himself. The careful selection of words, leading to embarrassed stutters or indignant anger. A slight change in tone, demeanor shifting to eager silence or quiet disappointment. How closely he’d lean toward him, how still his breathing would become. The arc of his neck under deft fingers, how his pulse would quicken when pressed, kissed, or nipped just so. Gentle touches drawing out soft gasps, quiet pleas. The way his eyes would flutter, closing tight as he eased the sweetest sounds from between his lips. Hot, damp air rushing past his ear as the dear man lay under- hot, damp breath against his ear.

Near, hot, rancid breath against his ear.

* * *

Percy jolts back from the precipice of sleep to find Alfred’s face mere inches from his own. Heart pounding from the sudden awakening, he can only stare as he remains completely still, mouth pursed into a thin line as he watches the other watch him.

Alfred must have started inching closer at some point as he dozed, drawn toward the subject of his continued scrutiny. Despite the darkness of the room, his flushed face seems a touch redder around the cheeks, reaching to the tips of his ears and burying beneath his sideburns. At this proximity it was obvious now his drunken gaze was transfixed not on Percy’s face, but solely on his mouth. A shudder runs through the physician at the observation.

Slowly, Percy begins to lean away, shifting to fully face the taller man as he goes. However Alfred just moves with him, leaning further and further to maintain the uncomfortable lack of distance, eyes never leaving his pursed lips. A leg is brought up onto the seat as Percy retreats, doing shockingly little to block the drunk’s advance. Far too soon he’s nearly against the arm of the sofa, back tensed to keep from being completely reclined as he awkwardly braces an arm against the backrest. He swallows thickly.

Alfred’s face is even closer now as he hovers over him, the smell of whiskey strong on his breathe. Something akin to dread was bubbling up in the doctor’s mind, amidst a myriad of fuddled emotions. _“Oh no, don’t you-”_

“Alfred,” says Percy flatly. After a moment Alfred looks up from his mouth, idly meeting his eyes. He smiles serenely, voice an octave too low. “Percy.”

His eyes fall back to Percy’s mouth, his own going slack. He moves ever so slightly forward, just enough for their noses to brush together. Percy holds his breath, still as a statue as he watches Alfred’s eyes close. He can’t comprehend his lack of action to stop what’s about to happen. _“I need to… This isn’t-”_

The light touch turns to that of a kiss as Alfred tilts his nose out of the way. Percy makes a soft noise, brows knitting together as fingers press gently to his jaw. He draws his free arm up to plant a hand on the other’s chest, intending to shove him away. Alfred suddenly surges forward, pushing him down into the couch as he fully covers the doctor’s mouth with his own.

Percy’s eyes screw shut as his head hits the armrest before flying wide at the rapidly deepening kiss. No longer supporting him, he pushes his other hand against Alfred’s chest as well, the force behind them doing dismally little. Head spinning once more, he tries to vocalize his protest only to emit a pathetic whining that he hastily cuts short. The larger man lurches up his body, trapping the leg meant as a defense against the backrest, never breaking contact between their lips. Percy uselessly tries to scramble backward to ease the increasingly painful angle of his neck, forced on by the firm grasp on his jaw. Now entirely on top of him, Alfred plants his forearms on either side of Percy’s head, hands tangling into his hair.

The blond moans as he brings himself fully flush with the trapped doctor, a foot planted on the floor for leverage. With one leg trapped and the other left to awkwardly flail, Percy is painfully aware when Alfred grasps him by the hamstrings, shifting the useless limb to rest atop his thigh. He cants his hips forward into Percy’s naval, something between a moan and growl forced into the other’s mouth. The physician chokes at the sensation, the pushing at Alfred's chest growing more frantic. The lack of air and a hammering heart rate causes dizziness to further flood his mind, somehow snapping him out of whatever bizarre state of shock he’d been in. Percy tries to compose himself, then changes tactics.

One hand goes to Alfred’s shoulder before snaking around to tug hard at the back of his jacket, pulling the man away slightly, the other searching lower. _“If I can just jab him- lower abdomen or- kidneys! Yes! Yes, that should w-”_

Both men gasp when Alfred thrusts forward just then. Percy’s immediately ends in silent, blank-faced horror; Alfred’s turning into a throaty, open-mouthed moan. The physician quickly takes the accidental reprieve to gulp down as much air as possible. His panicked breaths hitch when Alfred grinds down on the trapped hand, his arousal _very_ evident. Percy manages an exasperated groan before lips crash back into his own, open mouth accosted by the taste of whiskey. _“How **any** man could possibly achieve an erection with **that** much alcohol in his system-!”_

Percy screws his eyes shut again as Alfred bears down to roughly grind into his hand. He grunts as a foreign tongue invades his mouth, the younger man’s ragged breathes punctuating the increasingly sloppy kiss. The blond shifts, awkwardly pinning Percy’s hips with his own, the older man’s fist thudding against his back going entirely unnoticed. It’s painfully clear when Alfred decides on a new objective, clumsy thrusts eliciting a strangled gasp from the doctor. _“Oh f-for the love of all-”_

Fingers move from the mess of Percy’s hair to his chest before sliding lower, groping at the top of his trousers around the trapped hand now clutching at the drunk’s waistcoat. Alfred outright growls, the sound rumbling through his chest and mouth and into Percy’s. He halts whatever’s become of the kiss long enough to take a few rushed breathes before plunging back in.

Percy’s free hand goes to Alfred’s hair in a desperate attempt to pull him back off. The weak yanks only seem to incite his lust further, the litany of wanton noises growing in volume, his actions rougher. The physician’s arm soon goes limp as he shudders, hand still entwined in the dampened locks. He’s far too caught up in the sensations being forced upon him, loudly gasping when a particularly forceful thrust finds its mark. _“Damn physioluh-logical respo- **ahh** -enses!”_

Giving up at getting past his belt, Alfred instead opts to fully grasp him through the fabric, shifting to rut against the doctor’s trapped hip. Percy practically squeaks at the sudden handling - and outright yells when wicked teeth find his neck soon after. This somehow provokes Alfred, as the hand still tangled in his white locks pulls hard enough to expose more tender skin for him to ravish. With his airway unoccupied Percy can finally breathe freely, his rapid gasps drowned out by his own barely-restrained groan as the hand at his loins begins to rub in earnest.

_“Ah- I am… too-oo… **tired** for this! I am **done**!” _

With a grunt Percy yanks at Alfred’s hair, _hard_. He’s pulled back with a hoarse yowl, face twisted in pain as he’s dragged away from his assault on the doctor’s neck. With his other hand no longer pinned, Percy pulls it back, index and middle fingers pointed together. After only a split-second to hone his aim, he tenses the arm gripping the blond’s hair the same moment he forces his fingers up and into the point just below his ear and behind his mandible. Alfred immediately tenses further upright and tries to jerk his head away from the agonizing touch, to no avail. Hands fly to the doctor’s arms but can’t muster enough strength before falling away. His breathing stutters, the only sound he can manage a strangled wheeze. Only once the other’s eyes flutter and begin to roll back does Percy remove his hand and ease his grip.

Alfred’s body goes limp as he passes out completely, forcing the now-sitting physician back down as he faceplants into the arm of the couch. Another “Omph!” escapes Percy as the full weight of his guest collapses on top of him.

He wriggles his head out from under a heavy shoulder, nose sore from the impact. _“I… evidently didn’t think that through very well…”_ After a moment held still to regain composure, he tries to free himself from under the unconscious bulk. A long enough time of struggling passes to warrant the need to catch his breath. Percy gives up with a disgusted huff. His arms are painfully sore from Alfred trying to pry them away, along with this entire fiasco in general, making the endeavor nigh impossible. The alcohol in his own system couldn’t be of much help either.

He _could_ just roll the two of them off the seat and onto the floor… At the likely risk of waking Alfred, or him landing on - and thus crushing - the quaint little table set before the sofa. It had been gifted to Percy by a patient lacking standard means of payment - no, there’ll be no escape until his strength returns. He rather likes that table.

After calming himself completely ( _“since when has **that** become such a difficulty?”_), Percy gingerly brings a hand to the other man’s neck. Checking for a pulse seems rather unnecessary given the gentle snoring that now pervades the room, but he was wary. Utilizing that pressure point could be quite damaging if one wasn’t careful - deadly even. Despite his efforts, Percy doubts his vigilance was up to par in the moment of duress. Alfred’s heart beat is slow but steady, as is his breathing, no harm apparent to any of his cervical muscles. Percy sighs in relief and lets his hand drop at his side, knuckles coming to rest against the carpet. _“I **panicked** , like a fool. Or perhaps it was anger more than… Nevertheless, that was far too dangerous a technique to use, at such an angle…”_

The body on top of him flinches suddenly, a snort interrupting the rhythmic breathing. Percy tenses, eyes fixed to the blond sideburn that was all he could see of the other’s face. After a few tense moments the quiet snoring continues, relief flooding the physician immediately. As powerful a tool that pressure point could be, it didn’t ensure a particularly lengthy period of unconsciousness. Alcohol and the late - _early_ \- hour is likely the cause of Alfred’s continued slumber more than anything.

A weary sigh escapes as Percy watches shadows dance across the ceiling, cast by faint moonlight through the nearby windows. He does his best to catalogue Alfred’s libidinous outburst as best he could - he’ll need to analyze this event at some point, preferably once he’s gotten a decent rest and _wasn’t_ actively trapped under the subject in question. After a time Percy tries flexing the arm not weighed down by his guest only to wince at where Alfred had gripped him. There’ll be bruising there, most certainly, along with where the man had been sloppily gnawing on his neck - his collar was still wet from his efforts. Another sigh escapes him.

Percy closes his eyes for a time, eventually opening them to blankly stare at the ceiling when he feels sleep creeping forth. A realization comes to him suddenly, utterly out of nowhere, that causes him to heave a final, doleful sigh.  _“I miss Wesley…”_

* * *

Agony. Absolute agony.

Alfred attempts a groan, only for the sound to harshly vibrate through his skull. He attempts to move, only for pain to radiate through his neck and spread into his shoulders. Just trying to open his eyes was awful, the light of his room blinding despite its tiny window.

He felt, well and truly, like absolute garbage.

 _“I **am** garbage, drinking to such excess… After **everything** Logärius did for me, and I just…”_ This time the groan comes of its own accord, drawn out by tendrils of pain creeping through his throbbing head. Instead of thinking he focuses on not heaving up whatever might be left of his insides. He gives up on staying still and tries to shuffle to the edge of the bed, only for something to block him. With a grunt he tries the side he’d thought the wall was on, only to find a similar barrier. _“Fine, alright. I won’t be sick, it’s fine… I can’t get out of my own damn bed.”_ Trying not to cry, he gives up on fetching a bin and gingerly flips over, not certain on where his covers have ended up.

Now on his stomach, Alfred tucks his head under his arms to escape the light and tries not to retch all over himself and his linens. He attempts to bury his face into the pillow, only there’s nothing soft nor plush to press into. Belatedly he realizes he’s laying on a rug, having just ground his forehead into it hard enough to burn. _“I don’t… have a rug? Where…?”_

“Ah Alfred! I see you’re finally coming to.”

Alfred whimpers and covers his ears, the familiar voice booming through his skull like an artillery shot. There’s a pause before footsteps draw closer, the sound cracking painfully against floorboards before being swallowed by the carpet. Wherever he is dims, enough to let him squint his eyes open without splinters driving through them.

He’s between a couch and a squat table, on the floor, an armchair nearby - most likely in a parlor. He pushes himself up to lean against the sofa as the figure near some draped windows moves closer, allowing Alfred to finally see his apparent host.

“Dr. Hewlett? …Percy, wha-?” Alfred tries to speak despite how dreadfully parched he feels, tongue sticking at every syllable. Clearing his throat worsens things as it catches, the cough that comes as a result causing his vision to go white and head and neck to burst into searing pain. This time he does cry out, shaky hands trying to keep his skull from falling to pieces. After some time a cup and saucer appear before his watery vision, causing Alfred to look up, blinking away tears.

“Here, drink. Hot water with lemon. If you keep it down I’ll have some plain biscuits for you.” Percy’s half-sitting on the plush armrest of the chair, leaning forward with an outstretched arm to offer him the beverage. The doctor keeps his voice low so as not to sonically assault him again, which Alfred is grateful for. With an unsteady hand Alfred accepts it, again thankful - this time that it wasn’t but half full as his tremors cause the cup to clatter and liquid to slosh about. He grasps it with the other hand to stop the awful noise and brings it to his lips. As he sips Percy watches him briefly before leaving the room, returning with an empty bin that he leaves at the side of the couch. He goes back to the armchair and sits properly, crossing his legs before settling in to watch.

Alfred has gotten used to his doctor’s habit of observing every little thing he did, but at present it was rather difficult to bear. Unable to finish the lemon water before his intestines begin to twist, he sets the cup and saucer on the table with a clink. Measuring his breathes does little to settle the rising nausea - he quickly feels himself blanch in a sudden cold sweat. Reaching blindly he retrieves the bin and empties the sparse contents of his stomach into it.

The physician appears utterly blasé when Alfred withdraws his face from the receptacle, chin propped on a hand as he continues to observe. Alfred swallows back bile, forcing himself to meet the other’s gaze. “I… I’m so sorry.”

“Hm?” Percy perks up as he shifts his hand out of the way to speak, brows quirking slightly as he focuses now on the younger man. “Whatever for?”

“I- you…,” words evade Alfred in his shame, causing him to look away. He closes his mouth as he thinks a moment, ignoring the worsening headache. “I was… in a pub. Fairly far from here, most likely, uh- if I’m not mistaken. I- I’m sorry for the trouble, I must’ve put you through. To get me here. Thank you.”

Percy intently regards him as he mutters his thanks, face an eerily calm mask. There’s a pause before the doctor speaks, which makes Alfred uneasy for some reason. “Apology accepted. I must say, I was surprised to see you in such an uncharacteristic state, and in such a strange part of town… Again, my sincerest condolences. He was a great man.”

Alfred starts at that as he tries the lemon water again, hot liquid splashing his nose. “Wh-what? Why do you say that?” The unintended volume of his own voice causes him to wince.

Percy’s brow quirks higher, intrigue lacing his quiet voice. “Ah, you don’t recall then? When I was attempting to extract you from that pub, you shared it was the anniversary of your mentor’s death… Do you really not recall at all?”

The bedraggled man’s eyes shift to the floor, searching as he tries to remember the previous night. “There was, I - At the boarding house, when I decided on a scotch… Then went for a walk when I… had more than intended. I didn’t want to stay there, feeling I’d, well…” Alfred sheepishly rubs at his nose, “I must’ve come across the pub then; it wasn’t familiar to me. After that I- I ah… ordered a drink, and then…”

He falls silent for a while, brows furrowed together. _“I can’t remember a thing past that. God, what’s wrong with me?”_ With a forced chuckle he shrugs, still avoiding Percy’s gaze. “I don’t remember. I’m sorry.”

The older man hums in response as Alfred deflates further against the couch, a model example of turmoil and regret. Percy uncrosses his legs as he leans back into the armchair, crossing them at the ankle once comfortable. His off-putting scrutiny finally ceases as he switches his chin to the other hand, letting the previous perch drape over the armrest as he becomes lost in thought. Looking at him now Alfred sees how tired the doctor looks - noticeable dark circles lay under his eyes, and his hair wasn’t as neatly kept as usual. Guilt hits him anew, spurring him to avert his gaze as he tries to comb fingers through his own disheveled hair and ruffled sideburns.

Enough time passes that Alfred manages to finish his lemon water. Mercifully not needing the bin a second time, he moves it aside before trying to pull himself up despite the agony in his neck and shoulders. He should at least be sitting properly when Percy inevitably gives him a verbal lashing. _“I can’t imagine what else he’s so thoroughly thinking about. He’s gone off on me for slighter offenses than this, certainly…”_ For lack of anything else to do he chews at the thin slice of lemon left in the cup. Working his jaw worsens the stabbing ache on one side of his neck, but it helps his sore throat feel marginally better.

Percy suddenly looks at him, widened eyes his only movement before his tired features give a wry smirk. “Ah. My apologies, I was off in my own mind there for a moment,” he stretches as he straightens in his seat to face him. “It would seem I’ve grown accustom to a certain amount of sleep over the years. Bit of a nuisance, that.”

“I’m sorry to have kept you up so late,” Alfred hastily apologizes again, half eaten lemon slice dropping back into his cup. A glint of amusement flashes in the physician’s eyes as his grin widens. “As I said, apology accepted. Please know, I’m not trying to riddle you with guilt, Alfred. I just want my irregular conduct to be understood for the simple thing it is.”

“Oh.”

“However, as your personal physician I’m obligated to caution you from drinking to excess, especially to such excess as last night. With how much you imbibed the risks were - and still are mind you - considerable, in both the long and short term. It _is_ possible to poison oneself with alcohol. Fatally so.”

“…Oh.”

Alfred waits for further reproach, only for none to come. He’d been expecting a full lambasting for his stupidity, not… whatever that was. His doctor’s nonchalant tone and saccharine demeanor were throwing him off, as was his utter detachment to the whole affair. It wasn’t an unusual manner coming from the physician, not at all; Alfred was quite used to it, even found it endearing where others seemed to find it irksome. It’s just… _“I’d thought he’d be angrier at the very least. Or care **at all** really, that I’d made such a complete ass of myself. If only for his own image as my physician, and not as my… as an associate.”_

Disappointment must have shown on his face as, after regarding him for a moment, Percy’s smile slowly disappears. “That said…” Alfred perks up, as much as he could in his miserable state. “I’m concerned. I know you’ve quite a vexing history with alcohol, and have attempted to lessen your consumption on a number of occasions.”

“Ah, yes.”

“When you officially took me on as your physician you’d said you were only having a drink in the evenings, to relax. Considering that you’ve come to… _visit_ during the day on a number of occasions, with alcohol on your breathe” - at that Alfred looks away, cheeks flushing a tinge redder - “I would assume that is no longer the case. Am I correct?”

“…Yes that- that’s right. I’m sorry, I should ha-”

“I am not finished Alfred. I merely need an affirmation on if I’m correct.”

“…Correct,” the sudden authority in Percy’s voice causes Alfred to straighten in his seat, the movement not lost on the doctor. He mentally notes the reaction as he steeples his hands, continuing in a matter-of-fact tone. “Thank you. Now, given how long you’ve had a problem with alcohol and the multiple attempts at lessening how much you drink… You stated you’ve had three distinct, heartfelt attempts at reducing your intake, correct?”

“Correct.”

“ And every time you’ve made an attempt, only to fail, your drinking worsens - is that a correct assumption?”

“…C-correct.”

“Hm…Then my concern is this: maintaining any level of alcohol intake puts you at risk of relapsing, which in turn puts you at risk of further increasing your intake. Put simply - any drink will lead to too much drink. Given your experience, would you say this is a correct line of reasoning?”

“…Correct…”

“Would you like those biscuits now?”

“Cor- er, uh yes?”

Alfred falters at the sudden change of topic. Percy swiftly relieves him of the cup and saucer before excusing himself, leaving the weary man mercifully, silently alone. Finally. The doctor was a wonderful source of knowledge and interesting topics, when one was in the mindset for it. Right now though Alfred would rather wring Percy’s damn neck than suffer his voice a second longer. His head was pounding terribly after trying to listen to and comprehend the other’s rambling for so long, and neither the sudden silence, closing his eyes, nor rubbing his temples did anything to relieve it. Leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees, he cradles his head with a sigh.

Trying not to think at all always proves impossible for him, so instead Alfred lets his mind wonder as it will. For some reason it keeps returning to his hands around Percy’s neck. He frowns deeply. _“There’s no need for that, he’s a good man. Better than most in this city, better than most anywhere! Ughh, why do thoughts get stuck and haunt one so? There’s so much that energy could be put toward that’s…”_ His brows slowly furrow - something about the doctor’s neck…

A flash of a thought bolts across his mind’s eye before vanishing completely. Struggling to grasp whatever it was - a sensation? An image? Both? - Alfred is entirely caught off guard when a plate of biscuits manifests right in front of him. He jolts out of his seat, landing hard enough to cause the sofa to skid.

“Goodness, there’s no need to be so tense! I didn’t mean to startle you,” Percy says through his lopsided grin, eyebrow quirked high as if amused. His eyes are wide with surprise however, so Alfred takes his word for it and waves it off. What energy he had left to tolerate interaction is now well and truly drained.

He’s handed a small plate with half a dozen biscuits of two kinds, a fresh cup of hot lemon water placed on the table in front of him. Thankfully Percy doesn’t return to the armchair, instead pulling a pocket watch out to check the time. As he does Alfred quickly eyes his neck, mind still fumbling over the flash of possible memory. His collar seems a tad higher than typically worn, but other than that… Alfred averts his gaze and frowns around a bite of water biscuit.

“Seems my free time is nearly up. I need to return to the office to prepare for my next appointment. Rather busy day today what with the recent cold snap,” the doctor somehow says in a quiet yet chipper tone as he stashes the watch. A sudden wave of guilt crashes into Alfred’s conscience once again, stomach churning in its wake. “I’m so sorry, you shouldn’t have stayed out so late on account o-”

Percy raises a hand to silence him. “ _Apology accepted_ , Alfred. Really.”

Noticing the sudden lack of color in the other’s face,  he shifts to bring the bin closer as he continues, “To be honest, I had two sudden cancellations this morning after my first of the day, so it’s not quite so hectic a schedule as I was expecting. I wouldn’t have had a chance to see to you otherwise, in fact. Fortuitous, noh?”

“Oh,” is all Alfred manages, trying to forgo the receptacle as the meager amount he’d just eaten attempts its escape. Percy peers down at him with his typical sanguine smirk. “I’ll leave you to it then. Try to keep the water biscuits down a while before moving to the Bath Olivers. I recommend you uncover the windows and stand that for a time before venturing outside. I trust you can let yourself out once the nausea subsides. Oh, and don’t forget you’ve an appointment at the end of the month. I’ll see you then.”

The physician makes to leave, setting off an alarm in Alfred’s head. “You- you’re alright with leaving me in your home, unattended? I mean, I won’t do anything of course, I just- …Thank you? For trusting me, I mean…”

Despite the awkward, halting words, Percy regards the other with the same patient air as when he’s asked about his practice or hobbies. The lopsided grin comes back, amusement in his tone. “You’re welcome, but I’m afraid it’s not quite such a show of trust on my end. I’ll only be down the hall after all, and sound carries rather well between these rooms. Should you do anything of a questionable nature, _I'll know_.”

With that the doctor is gone. Alfred remains as he was, twisted around in his seat to see where the other had stood, half a biscuit in hand. Confused, he pops it in his mouth and chews. _“But the office his practice is in- It was a large enough space to be it’s own building. And didn’t he once say he rented a row house on a separate street from his office? How does that…?”_ He shakes his head and turns to take a sip of lemon water, hoping it’d help repel the cold sweat creeping over him. Dr. Hewlett must find some strange form of joy in bewildering others. Alfred was generally content with this eccentricity and the resulting work required to understand the man - it helped to keep his mind busy, in a positive way. Percy’s impossible housing was something to ponder at a different time, when he could to do so without getting further frustrated. Or nauseous. Sighing again, he sets aside his meager meal to prep the bin. Alfred closes his eyes as he waits and tries to figure out what’s left of his day.

He’ll have to answer to the lonely old landlady once he gets back, that’s for certain. His dear Siegward had likely caused a racket when he wasn’t home for their early morning constitutional. Luckily she has a skeleton key to every room in the house, and luckier yet has a soft spot for his giant hound. As much as Alfred hates the thought of someone else handling him, she’d have taken him out herself if she couldn’t chide someone else into it. Probably was walked too little and fed too much for breakfast as well.

Alfred harrumphs as the nausea somewhat lessens, setting the bin aside to keep eating. The old woman was likely feeding the dog kitchen scraps behind his back - it’s the only explanation for his massive bulk despite so many daily walks. Well, that and the red meat he would bring back after his late night outings… _“A bit of cat or bird can’t add that much to his weight, surely! And I don’t come across strays or unbound pets to have fun with **that** often… Ah, that doesn’t matter now. I really need to be on my way.”_ With a grunt he gets up to let more light into the room, intending to suffer through it as he finishes his meal. Sitting back down, he lets himself lean against the sofa’s armrest as he gnaws on one of the richer crackers. Squinting to look up, he stills. At this angle, the couch and the room, with the windows…

_He looks back to his host, the sentiment from under the lamp post still strong in his chest. “I wan’… can I kissh you?” A chuckle is his only response. He’s not sure if that’s a yes. He’d like it to be._

Alfred tenses hard at the mental intrusion, causing a fresh jolt of anguish to pulse through his neck and straight into his skull. Gasping, he brings a hand to where the blinding pain is centered, rubbing and kneading to no avail. He’s suddenly, extremely nauseous. His hands shake as he swaps the biscuit for the bin, bringing it close enough just in time to keep from ruining the carpet. Sweat drips down his face as he tries to catch his breath, swallowing at the taste in his mouth. Despite his better judgement, Alfred ventures a look to the other end of the couch, to the armrest…

_He’s pressed against him, snug between his legs. His lips are softer than he’d thought, better than he’d earlier imagined. The noises he’s making are terribly pleasant. He wants to do more._

Alfred isn’t breathing right; his breathes were coming too quickly, too hard. He retches again but only bile comes up, his frenzied wheezing drawing it down his airway. A chest-rattling coughing fit makes his vision go white as the world falls into agony. He barely keeps from sobbing as well, hands tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck as he grits his teeth. Trying to keep from growing any louder Alfred doubles over to press his face into the seat cushion, mind reeling.

_“Oh God, oh good God! Did I- But he didn’t act like-! Fffuughh my **neck**! Why does it hurt so much?! He wouldn’t have, if I- surely? He’d have thrown me out! Was it just, just a tasteless dream? Percy was with me when I passed out, so Percy was who I dreamt off? Is that how it works? It has to be- ! Aaghh this **bloody** headache!”_

As soon as the throbbing anguish dulls enough to crack open his eyes Alfred slowly gets to his feet, the remainder of his small meal forgotten. Sunlight and empty stomach be damned; he was leaving, _now_. Steadying himself against the furniture and walls, he makes for the parlor’s doorway. Against the doorframe he leans to look into the next room, blinking away tears as he finds his bearings. Another flash of possible memory invades his mind, this time of a hand on his arm, a familiar face looking up at him. It’s thoroughly snubbed before there's any chance to ponder it. _“No more of that, it didn’t happen! Percy dragged me here and I fell asleep in the parlor. Nothing. Happened.”_

From the threshold he peers into a narrow foyer of sorts, a hallway one way and the front door the other. Adjacent to the entryway are stairs that presumably lead to a second story, opposite another doorway leading to another room. On his way closer to the front door he grips the lower balusters of the handrail, the pounding headache and pain coursing through his body making it difficult to keep upright. Alfred spots a simple chair across the small space, nearly hidden by a heavily-laden coat rack. He kicks a pair of congress gaiters out of the way as he approaches it, wooden joints creaking as he sits down to finish gathering his wits.

 _“I’ll return to my room, make myself presentable. No more sleep and no moping in bed, I don’t deserve it. I’ll- I’ll go for a walk, get some breakfast… I have an appointment at the end of the month. Should I ask him then, if…? No, no -”_ Alfred shakes his hands through his mop of hair as if to cast the thought out. There’ll be no more of that - it was a dream. It was just another perverted dream that he had no control over and nothing more. Such dreams are no stranger to his nights, along with all the other nightmares and terrors that often kept him from getting a proper night’s rest. The fact it was a man, specifically _Percy_ \- who’d saved his life and been nothing but kind, in his own peculiar way - means nothing. Happenstance, that’s all.

The quiet solitude of the place begins to make him feel jittery, as if an unwelcome guest would arrive at any moment. An unseen clock ticks incessantly somewhere, causing one of his eyes to twitch as he steels himself for the walk home. While aimlessly looking around he startles on seeing a large stuffed bird hanging above the stairs, alarmingly vibrant eyes watching him. He turns away only to jump again on spotting an enormous lizard poised atop a small log on a console table down the hall. With a huff Alfred pushes himself up to leave, not wanting to know whatever other dead creatures the place has to offer.

The multiple Yharnam-style locks are a  nuisance, but soon the front door is open and the blinding, overcast light hits him full force. Drawing a hand up with an annoyed grunt, Alfred shades his eyes as he tries to comprehend his surroundings. As he squints at the nearby corner for any sort of street sign, he fumbles out his pocket watch. It’s hard to tell with the cloud cover, but he swears the sun is lower than it should be, this time of day… He freezes as he looks down at the time, face quickly contorting into a snarl. _“Damn you Hewlett! It’s well into the afternoon and you didn’t even-! You should’ve at least **tried** to rouse me! I’ve lost an entire **day** , damn it!”_

With that he’s off, muttering curses under his breathe as he blindly rushes down the residential street. Other pedestrians quickly move out of his path on seeing him approach, much like songbirds give a wide berth to a hungry hawk - a fact Alfred is utterly oblivious to in his agitated hurry homeward.


End file.
